I am mourning what I hoped would be but is not.
Allowing the emotions to sweep through me like a brisk wind scattering the leaves.
I know this is not permanent. The wind will slow, the leaves will settle.
I am mourning what I hoped would be but is not and in so, am seeing the different faces of hope.
Certainly, hope serves a purpose.
Hope can help us to climb the highest mountain as it fuels the belief that there is refuge at the top. A place to rest one’s feet and perhaps one’s head.
Then suddenly, often surprisingly, hope will the reveal to the climber the reflection of dependency the climber had placed upon it.
Even in hope we can place too much of our power.
And hope is not a crutch to be dependent upon.
The false promise of hope so subtle; gentle as a whisper. A feather brushing across one’s cheek; the hint of soft yellow flowers and sweet grass.
Delicately or ever so violently, hope disillusions the mind.
I surrender to what I can see; an unknown path that only I can summons the courage to step upon.
Hope an ally in reminding me of the guises and pitfalls of expectations and attachment - as subtle as they may be.
I am reminded to stay present and adept. To release longing for the option that is not an option any more. To recognize that space will still be held for me and that it will look differently than I thought or had hoped it would be.
And herein lies the lesson.
Thank you, Universe. I bow to you.